In Limbo
by solveariddle
Summary: Hotch left the BAU to go into business for himself as a personal adviser. Emily Prentiss is one of his clients, hiring him to protect her from anonymous threats. The more Hotch tries to get to the bottom of things, though, the more secrets his client seems to hide until it's a matter of life or death for both of them. AU set some time after Season Five.
1. Prologue

**A/N: **It's been a while that I posted a story for this fandom. When I found the draft on my hard drive, I thought I'd give it another try though. I hope there are still some people out there who are interested in HotLy fics.

Summary: AU set some time after Season Five. Hotch left the BAU to go into business for himself as a personal adviser. Emily Prentiss is one of his clients, hiring him to protect her from anonymous threats. The more Hotch tries to get to the bottom of things, though, the more secrets his client seems to hide until it's a matter of life or death for both of them.

**Disclaimer:** No copyright infringement intended. Criminal Minds is owned by CBS. This is just for fun. I make no money out of it.

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><p><em>Prologue<em>

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><p>The light in the room is harsh. There is no furniture aside from a table and four chairs. A classic interrogation room. They raised the temperature to a slightly uncomfortable level so that the suspect feels as if his guilt makes him sweat.<p>

Save that the man who is sitting in the interrogation room right now knows all the tricks. He had used them himself years ago. Before he left the FBI and stepped down from his position as unit chief of the BAU.

The door opens and two men come in, their dark suits giving away that they are not the police. The Feds are here.

"Mr. Hotchner," one of the men greets him friendly and sits down on the opposite side of the table while the other man remains standing in the background. They don't believe that he will fall for the good cop – bad cop act, do they?

There is no need to ask for his name or his address, not even for his current occupation. They know all that. He left the FBI, but the Bureau tends to keep former employees under surveillance when they choose a similar but unappreciated business as he did. Aaron Hotchner works as a personal adviser these days. At least that's what his name plate says. He is not a private investigator in the proper sense; what he does comes close enough to raise suspicion though. The requirements of his occupation entail a mixture of profiling, advising and investigating. His new job has a remarkable resemblance to his old one.

If someone had asked him during his earlier years with the FBI whether he could imagine leaving the Bureau to pursue another career, he would have denied it vehemently. But that had been before George Foyet, before that unsub hunted him down, stabbed him and went after his family. His son, Jack, survived; his wife didn't. Actually, she was his ex-wife by then, but that was just a question of semantics when you had to bury someone you had loved half of your life.

During the fight for the survival of his son, he killed Gorge Foyet. There was an investigation; his reputation as unit chief was whitewashed. The BAU team wanted him to come back to work. His superior wanted him to retire. He simply wanted out.

There were several job offers, good job offers, indeed. Economy, politics, an internal change of job. It would have meant even more working hours, though, even more time away from his son. A son who was already suffering from nightmares due to the one he had experienced in real life. Therefore, and after careful consideration, he chose to become a personal adviser.

He is his own boss and can decide when he wants to work and when he wants to spend time with his son. His former sister-in-law, Jessica, helps him with Jack, but he doesn't intend to let her bring him up. Since he is not a conventional private investigator, he doesn't have to do the dirty work. No cheating husbands or wives. He has several regular clients, some come and go – all of them want the same. He mostly is hired to check potential associates. It is not unusual that his clients ask him to use his profiling skills and attend one of their business lunches to screen someone. Albeit he is not a profiler anymore, he will never stop thinking or measuring up other people that way. It runs in his blood. Bottom line, it's a safe job. His clients are wealthy and pay their bills on time. No imminent danger. Well, until he met his current client that is. Emily Prentiss.

This latest case has turned his world upside down and is the reason he is sitting here.

Aaron Hotchner isn't worried about himself. He is pretty sure that he will be out of here soon. Unfortunately, he is running out of time. Emily Prentiss wasn't in a good condition when he saw her last and he is worried about her. Very worried. More than he should be about a client. But that's another story.

He resists the urge to show his nervousness because that is what these men are waiting for. They would interpret it as a sign of guilt. And they would be right. He is guilty of what happened – at least partially. Emily Prentiss hired him to find out what and who was behind the strange things that were going on in her life, whether they were plainly annoying or a potential threat. Basically, she hired him to protect her, and by his standards, he failed.

All the worse, he doesn't know who he can trust. Who is involved. Whether these two men who are in the room with him are part of it or not.

Before the agent who is sitting at the table with him can start the interrogation, Hotch insists, "I need to know the whereabouts of Emily Prentiss. Is she alright?"

He doesn't dare to say or ask anything else due to his suspicion, but this he has to know although he doesn't expect an answer. And he doesn't get one. Instead, there is the question he has been anticipating ever since the men entered the room.

"Why did you shoot Derek Morgan?"

There is only one answer to this question – because he had no other choice. The last thing Hotch saw before he was taken into custody was how the paramedics resuscitated Morgan. He had aimed for his shoulder, just had wanted to immobilize him, never had intended to kill him, but at the last moment Morgan had moved unexpectedly. The bullet had hit him in his chest, much too close to his heart. Hotch doesn't want to think of the possibility that he dies. Derek Morgan is more than a former colleague and the current unit chief of the BAU. He is a friend. Hotch considers all members of his former team friends but especially Derek Morgan and David Rossi. They are the only people he trusts right now.

"I want to talk to David Rossi," Hotch says instead of giving the man an answer.

"Then talk to me," he hears the familiar voice as David Rossi comes in. Hotch immediately is relieved. His ally has arrived.

The two agents stare at Rossi hostilely. Apparently, they know who he is, though, and seem to accept that he is in charge. At least for now.

"Dave," the relief in Hotch's voice is evident. "Did you talk to Emily? Did you see her? Is she alright?"

When the older man doesn't answer and avoids eye contact, Hotch starts to wonder what is going on.

"Get me out of here," he urges, anyway.

But when his friend looks at him, Hotch almost flinches from the cold determination in his eyes. He _is_ his ally, isn't he?

"Sorry, I can't do that," Dave says, confirming Hotch's fear. He isn't his ally. He is a traitor.

"What have you done?" Hotch hisses, barely able to suppress his rage. "Where is Emily?"

He jumps up, and from the corner of his eye, he sees the two agents approach him. They grab his arms and push him down on the chair.

This can't be happening. He can't believe it. David Rossi was his last hope that they will get out of this more or less unharmed. Hotch puts up a fight, his fury taking over against better knowledge. He is well aware that this is futile and counterproductive since he already is the suspect and doesn't need to dig an even deeper hole for himself.

Only when he sees the syringe, he realizes that the situation is much worse than he thought.

There is nothing he can do. The more he struggles, the more the men bottle him up, rendering him immobile.

The needle pricks his skin, and shortly after, Hotch feels a weird cold in his veins. The world starts to spin; the last thing he sees is David Rossi and the two agents laughing at him. Then everything goes black.

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><p><em>To be continued<em>


	2. Three is a pair

**A/N: **That was a really nice welcome back, guys! Thanks a lot for your reviews, alerts and support in general. I hope you're not disappointed that the story takes a leap in time backwards first so that you can find out what led to the events in the prologue before it continues from there. And here we go...

**The usual disclaimer applies.**

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><p><em>Three is a pair<em>

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><p><strong>Three months ago<strong>

It starts with anonymous phone calls. No talking, not even audible breathing. Just silence, and after a brief moment, the line goes dead. No one threatens her. No one harasses her. The only thing slightly bothering her is that she receives the calls on her private cellphone. Its number is unlisted. No more than a handful of people know it. Then again, it could be a random act. Someone who gets off on something like that and just dialed any number. It doesn't seem to be worth the effort to dig deeper.

A few weeks pass by without any incidents and she forgets about it.

Until she receives the packages that is. The first is completely empty. The second contains shreds of paper. Only looking closely, she notices that there is a question mark on each shred. A package full of thousands of question marks. The third is full of cut flowers that are ripped to pieces. She smells them even before she opens the package. Daisies. Her favorite flowers as a child. Eerie. She starts to wonder whether this is conducted by someone who knows her. It is highly unlikely that this is a mere coincidence. The packages have her name and business address on it. Of course, there is no sender. Yet, someone pursues a target and the target is her.

This time she ponders on how to handle the situation, but life is hectic and full of other demands that make the packages take a backseat. Again, several weeks pass by and nothing unusual happens.

Then she receives cards, sent to her business address. No sender. The first card reads _empty;_ the second reads _is_.

Emily Prentiss can't deny any longer that things threaten to spin out of control and instructs her assistant to look for someone who is capable of handling the sensitive situation.

Someone who is discreet and efficient. Someone like Aaron Hotchner.

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><p><strong>Three weeks ago<strong>

It is standard procedure that Hotch's clients don't come and visit him. Usually a secretary or an assistant calls to make an appointment and he meets them at their office or at their home. He has rented business premises, but he rarely uses them other than for research or paperwork. Actually, he prefers it that way. Meeting his clients in their everyday surroundings gives him the opportunity to get an idea of their personalities. In fact, the first profile, whenever he considers accepting a new job, is always the one of his new client.

When Emily Prentiss' assistant calls, the name sounds vaguely familiar. _Regional policy_, he thinks, _or perhaps commercial size_. He agrees to meet her the following week and lets his assistant, Jacob, run the obligatory background check. His current task will be finished in a few days and his other regular ones, although well-paid, take up only a few hours per week. It's the perfect time for a new client.

Hotch's job mainly is a one-man-show. His clients hire him because of his experience as a profiler and his past as unit chief of the BAU. In addition, there are Jacob, when research is needed, and some other freelancers who he trusts enough to involve temporarily if backing in the field is required.

Jacob is an extremely talented IT student and Penelope Garcia's neighbor. He was looking for an easy way to earn money when she told him that her ex-boss was looking for an assistant. These days, Jacob works for Hotch whenever he doesn't take classes. He is not as good as Garcia, but he comes close. Occasionally Hotch still uses Garcia's exceptional research skills. The BAU team knows it and Morgan, as their unit chief, tolerates it as long as it doesn't interfere with Garcia's work.

The background check on Emily Prentiss reveals that she is a wealthy art dealer and gallery owner. The exhibitions she sets up range from paintings to sculptures. She seems to have an unerring instinct for new artists who are a real zinger and has quite a reputation in this field. Born and raised as an ambassador's daughter, she grew up in several countries and lives in Washington nowadays.

Her gallery as well as her office are, as expected, in one of the most expensive areas in town. When Hotch steps out of the elevator, the reception is the, also expected, understatement that oozes money. Sandstone, bright colors and a receptionist with a polite smile that at least is not as fake as usual. Perhaps Emily Prentiss is a better employer than most people with bright-colored sandstone lobbies.

Hotch has to wait the adequate 10-15 minutes while _Ms. Prentiss is finishing a conference call_, as the receptionist tells him. Then he is led into her office.

Well, office is an understatement. The room is huge. Windows cover the entire exterior wall; aside from an exquisite desk, there is not only a large conference table but also rather comfortable looking arm chairs grouped around a smaller table. Of course, there are also exhibits, paintings and sculptures equally, everywhere. As a whole, the office is impressive – even for someone like Aaron Hotchner. Some people don't have this much space in their apartment. Let alone the lofty style only very few people can afford.

"Mr. Hotchner," Emily Prentiss stands up behind her desk and crosses the room, her hand already put out to bid him welcome. This is a woman who doesn't waste any time on redundancies.

They shake hands. Her smile is downright charming. Something Hotch registers along with the fact that Emily Prentiss is very attractive. He saw some pictures as the result of Jacob's background check, but the vibrating energy that surrounds her makes her even more appealing in person. There is definitely something intriguing about her that goes beyond her looks.

Rich. Successful. Beautiful. Confident. Hotch lets the first impression sink in. Her office, the publicity that comes along with her job, her appearance, the high-end designer clothes and the exceptional jewelry. She has the unobtrusive, yet unmistakably prosperous, appearance of someone for whom wealth is a given. At first sight, she doesn't seem to be the kind of person to show off with it. Nonetheless, it's not difficult to imagine why Emily Prentiss' life could arouse envy. Hotch doesn't know the details as yet, but her assistant told him something about phone calls and unwanted deliveries. Therefore, he has a vague idea.

She offers him a seat at the conference table, implying that this is business and no informal small-talk. After her assistant served coffee and light refreshments, they are alone in the room. The carpet must be a sound-absorbing, custom-built sort because, despite the minimalist furnishing, their voices don't resound while she is telling him about the details. She pauses a few times in between and Hotch senses that the issue makes her uncomfortable beneath her composed demeanor. It doesn't seem to frighten her though.

"My assistant has the packages and cards. I guess you will want to take a closer look," she just ends her narration when, as if on cue, there is a knock at the door. It's her assistant, carefully holding a white envelope between her fingertips.

"There is another one," she whispers.

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><p><em>To be continued<em>


	3. Hell is empty

**A/N: **Wow! Your wonderful reviews keep blowing me away! Thank you so much, guys. Especially for letting me know that Emily and Hotch work as their AU characters since the AU is supposed to be about the setting and not about who they are deep inside. As to who is behind the phone calls etc., sorry, I won't spoil you, but I'll give you this little hint - there is a connection to something that happened on the show. You will find out about it in a couple of chapters and I hope you'll like it.

This chapter continues right where the last one ended. Enjoy!

**The usual disclaimer applies.**

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><p><em>Hell is empty<em>

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><p>Hotch gets a pair of gloves out. Old habits die hard. He doesn't secure evidence on a regular basis these days, but the gloves are still useful from time to time.<p>

With a glance in Emily Prentiss' direction, he makes sure it's okay for her that he opens the envelope, then waits until the assistant is no longer in the room with them. The envelope contains a white card – just as the other cards she described. And just as the other cards, there is only one word written on it. Not handwritten or printed but typed. Rather unusual nowadays. _Hell_.

Hotch hears her snort and can't say whether it's relief or annoyance.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Definitely annoyance. "Empty – is – hell," she quotes the words on the cards in the order she received them and suddenly pales. Within reach, there is a stack of flyers. She hands him one.

"Hell is empty and all the devils are here," she recites as he reads the words on the flyer. "Shakespeare. We chose the first part of the quote for my next exhibition. It's a new artist who creates sculptures that are disturbing or interesting, depending on your perception. The quote seemed to be fitting."

She laughs nervously although she still doesn't appear to be scared. This angers her more than anything else. Hotch's instincts are highly alert though. They might be in her office, at her conference table, but everything about this case screams at him that this is personal. And that it's only the beginning. Let alone the fact that she received the third card just after she had told him about the other two. Coincidence? Or does someone want him, in particular, to take over the case? Is this the egocentric act of a narcissistic personality that is craving for even more attention?

"You have no idea who could be behind this?" he asks.

She shakes her head. _No_. It is obvious. Otherwise, she would have already handled it herself and he wouldn't be here. Emily Prentiss is not the kind of woman to rely on someone else unless it is inevitable. That much he has already learned about her.

"Who knows that I'm here today?" Hotch inquires.

She looks at him surprised but understands his point immediately.

"No one aside from my assistant and myself," she answers. "Do you really think that the delivery date was set on purpose so that you would be here?"

"I don't know," Hotch admits, "but coincidences are rare in cases like these and there is also the fact that someone called you on your unlisted private cellphone."

He lets her assimilate the information and watches the change in her expression. If it is no coincidence, there are only two plausible explanations. Either she is under observation or someone close to her is involved.

She licks her lips. It is the first sign of insecurity he observes.

"I didn't say anything because I have absolutely no proof whether this is true or simply my imagination," she starts hesitatingly, "but I believe that I'm being followed. Not all the time," she adds as if to defend the fact that she didn't mention it before. "Anyway... Sometimes I can feel it, and it is eerie. I thought it was a misperception due to the phone calls and the deliveries but now... I just don't know what to think anymore."

She leans back and the movement wafts over a whiff of her perfume. Her face is an inscrutable mix of doubt and determination and Hotch realizes that he is attracted to her. Some of his clients are beautiful women, but she is different. It's the combination of unflinching strength and controlled weakness. She is good at covering it up. Nevertheless, he notices the tension in her body language, how much she wants to catch this nameless and faceless someone who is behind all this, senses that she feels threatened to a certain extent regardless of the fact that she tries to tell herself that there is nothing to be afraid of. He understands the pressure she is under as a public figure, the need to keep up the facade that everything is fine even if it isn't. Hotch is not the kind of man to fall head over heels in love. There is something about Emily Prentiss, though, that fascinates him. All things considered, it is not the best condition to start a business connection.

"So... what is your usual procedure in cases like these?" she wants to know.

Apparently, she has decided that he is the right man for the job. She doesn't ask about money, how much this will cost her. It doesn't matter. She just wants him to solve the problem.

Hotch knows that it is now or never. If he has qualms about taking on the case, this is the moment to tell her. Once he has agreed to work for a client, he never backs down until the case is closed. It's his personal code of honor. His interest in the case that is unlike any of the cases he worked on before as a personal adviser outweighs his doubts. This is not what he usually does. Somehow, it feels more like a BAU case. Just like in the good old days. Not to mention his interest in this intriguing woman. It takes him only a split second to decide; she probably didn't even notice his hesitation. He nods. They have a deal.

"So far, you haven't been threatened," he states and has to give her credit for not batting an eyelid considering his wording. _So far_. "At this early stage, it is hard to tell what this is about and whether there actually is the possibility of an impending threat or not. What we have, though, is a certain development. First the phone calls, then the packages, and now the cards. This is a clear effort to communicate with you, to tell you something without having to tell you in person. And the facts that you received the calls on your unlisted cellphone and that whoever is behind this knows about the favorite flowers of your childhood indicate a personal motive even if there is also the connection with your exhibition. Let alone that someone may be following you at times. There are a lot of maybes here. It could be a harmless hoax, but experience taught me never to underestimate a situation like this. Therefore, I recommend that you take precautions without attracting attention. Get a new unlisted private cellphone but don't close the old account just in case. Change the locks at the door of your private address but cover it up as repair work. Make sure that you are not alone whenever possible."

She watches him concentrated and nods in approval. Obviously, she shares his estimation and is willing to take measures. Hotch feels certain that she otherwise would tell him in an instant.

He puts the envelope and the card in an evidence bag. Just like the gloves, the evidence bags are still his companions although his resources are limited these days. Checking for fingerprints. Possible. He has some contacts and there is always Garcia when the going gets rough. Checking for DNA. Not really. Something only authorities can do. Once he asked Morgan to do it. But that was an exception and can't happen on a regular basis. He has accepted that there is a point at which he might have to turn over one of his cases to the police or even the FBI. Well, he has never reached that point as yet, always was able to solve his cases by himself. Hotch has never handled a case like this before though. And he is aware how dangerous these kind of cases can get. They both avoid the word _stalking_, but it is in the wind, unspoken. He knows that she is thinking of it, too.

"Ms. Prentiss, I need to be honest with you." He gives her a summary of his capabilities. That he will check for fingerprints but won't be able to check for DNA. That he will try to trace back the phone calls she received and examine the videos of the lobby for anything suspicious. In fact, Jacob will do all this with Garcia's help if need be. "I just want you to know that I'm not the police and that the police has more capabilities to investigate a case like this," Hotch eventually ends his remarks.

Save that the police usually doesn't investigate a case like this unless there is a real threat. More than wordless phone calls, harmless packages and cryptic cards. Perhaps Emily Prentiss has contacts or her prosperity leads to a preferential treatment even if it shouldn't and even if he doubts that she is the kind of person who would want this. It doesn't matter, anyway. Hotch can see it in her face that she isn't exactly eager to go to the next police station and press charges against a person unknown. The police can't guarantee her discretion. He can.

"I understand," she says, "but I think you are fully qualified to handle this. And I prefer to handle it discreetly and not within the scope of an official investigation." There it is. Discretion. The magic word. In this respect, she is no different than his other clients. Only easier on the eyes.

The last obstacle is removed. Their cooperation starts now. She will get a new cellphone, change the locks at her door, and he has to find out who is behind it before the situation escalates even more.

"I need all your addresses and phone numbers, work-related as well as private, so that I can contact you wherever and whenever," he states and watches her flinch slightly. Privacy is apparently very important to her, and this – giving all required data to a stranger – must feel like an intrusion, but she composes herself quickly.

"My assistant will provide you with it before you leave." She must have screened him beforehand and think that he is trustworthy; that much is for sure. Otherwise, she would never hand this kind of sensitive information over to him.

"One more thing," Hotch adds. "It would be really helpful if you came up with a list of names. Who knows daisies were your favorite flowers as a child? Who knows or could have possibly found out the unlisted number of your private cellphone? Who benefits from a failure of your next exhibition? Who might want to irritate or harass you?"

There has to be a hidden drawer underneath the conference table because she pulls a piece of paper out of nowhere. It's a list of names with additional notes. Now, that's what he calls being prepared. He recognizes the name of her assistant. Good. She concentrated on the facts and didn't pre-eliminate people she trusts or at least thinks she can trust. Evidently, life taught her that there are times when you can trust no one. Hotch's respect for this woman and how she handles the situation strengthens even more.

"I thought this would be helpful," she explains. "I considered everything you said. Well, except for the connection with my next exhibition because I didn't know that until a few moments ago. I will think about it and let you know what names to add."

Hotch scans the list. He is looking for a certain note next to one of the names but doesn't find it. From Jacob's research he knows that there is a significant other in her life although she isn't married and never was. Jacob couldn't spy out the name though. There only were a few blurry photos on the internet; her need for privacy obviously prevented more details from becoming common knowledge.

"No offense," he says and pretends to still study the list even if he already has come to the conclusion that there is no note next to a name with the content he is looking for. "But is there someone special in your life? Husband? Boyfriend? I'm sorry, but I have to ask for the sake of completeness."

She looks at him and raises an eyebrow. Then she leans forward and writes down another name. _Clive Bellows_. When she leans back again and their eyes meet, her gaze is almost challenging. Hotch is aware that she is convinced there is nothing he will find out about this man that she doesn't already know. Most likely she ran a background check before she got involved with him. But Hotch always finds out something about the people in the lives of his clients they didn't know before. Somehow, he wishes that it will be different this time. Even though he just met her, he doesn't want to be the one who has to bring her bad news.

Only when she pushes back her chair and stands up, he realizes that their meeting is adjourned rather abruptly. Perhaps she has another appointment. Perhaps he crossed a line with his insistence and she wants to put him in his place.

"Mr. Hotchner," her smile is polite and inscrutable, the skin of her outstretched hand soft and warm. "I'm looking forward to seeing the first results of your investigation."

"Call me Aaron," he responds. "All my clients call me Aaron. It makes things easier." A lie. Some clients call him by his first name but by far not all of them. And he never offers a new client to be on a first name basis that early during a cooperation. Frankly, his reaction surprised himself. What is it about this woman that makes him want to break through her invisible wall of distance and get closer to her?

"Well," she hesitates briefly but long enough to make him realize that she considered refusing his offer. Then she decides to accept it, anyway, "In that case, call me Emily."

They are standing next to the conference table. Despite their friendly and professional demeanor, the admittance of the unpredictable situation and the exchange of information about her significant other noticeably cooled down the atmosphere. Hotch reaches for the list of names to pocket it. When he looks at Emily, he catches her unguarded gaze just before she puts up her shield again. It's only the split of a second, but he sees something in her eyes that sends a chill down his spine. Something that goes way beyond the concern that he might reveal the one or other dirty secret her boyfriend is keeping from her and makes him wonder what she didn't tell him. All the same, he senses that this is not the time to ask her about it although it worries him.

The profiler in him looked one time too many into the abyss and that is exactly what he saw in her eyes. A sadness and desperation so deep that you get lost in it once you allow the pull to devour you. Hotch can feel it. The pull. He is drawn to her as if it is a force of nature whereas his profiling instincts tell him to stay away from her because there is danger ahead. But it is too late. He already agreed to take on the case. And he doesn't back down. Ever. Let alone that he doesn't want to.

"We'll be in touch, Emily," he can't resist to say her name even though the closeness it suggests doesn't exist between them. Yet.

She simply nods in response, and it doesn't take a profiler to notice that she deliberately avoids to address him directly.

_Well, goodbye then, Aaron_, Hotch thinks sardonically.

Even in the elevator, he still can smell her perfume and he doesn't know whether it is the scent of seduction or the bait of evil.

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><p><em>To be continued<em>


	4. All the devils are here

**A/N:** Thank you, as always, for your reviews and alerts. They really make my day.

**The usual disclaimer applies.**

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><p><em>All the devils are here<em>

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><p>The opening of the exhibition is a complete success. By late evening the gallery is still full of people who are enjoying themselves and admiring the sculptures – or at least eying them curiously. Hotch is no philistine, but the demonic creatures give him the creeps. Reminding him of gargoyles, they are exhibited on pedestals, lightning and placement creating the perfect illusion that the intense gaze of their grotesque faces follows everyone everywhere.<p>

_Hell is empty._ The quote is written in huge letters on banners outside and inside of the gallery. A fitting motto, indeed.

Hotch watches Emily Prentiss as she walks across the gallery with a seemingly effortless elegance, despite her high heels and tight, full-length dress, that comes from a lot of practice. This is her playing field. This is what she does. Enthralling people with her savoir vivre and beauty likewise. One could almost say she is able to cast a spell on others. Right now, she is talking to an older man who seems to be very interested in one of the sculptures. Obviously a potential buyer. As far as Hotch can tell, the exhibition is a success at this early stage already – not only socially but also monetary.

This woman has many layers, the friendly, professional business woman being only one of them. Their cooperation started two weeks ago. Hotch remembers how he visited her a couple of days later to tell her about the result of his research regarding the anonymous phone calls.

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><p>"<em>The calls were made from a phone booth near your office," he told her, and she looked away the split of a second too late. When she looked at him again, feigning interest, he knew.<em>

"_You already knew that," Hotch stated with barely suppressed anger. "Is this some kind of test? I hope you are aware that you are wasting your money and my time."_

_At least she had the decency to be slightly embarrassed that she had been caught._

"_I'm sorry, Mr. Ho... Aaron," Emily corrected herself, and somehow, this slip made him even angrier. "You might call me a control freak, but it is a habit of mine to spot-check the results of the people I work with although I should have known that with your reputation there would be nothing to find."_

_Hotch was aware that she had added the last part only by courtesy. Beneath the beautiful and charming facade, Emily Prentiss is a calculating negotiating partner who for sure learned to trust but verify. In a way, he understood. Nevertheless, neither of his clients had done anything like that before. She was definitely complex and a challenge. _

_From then on, their interaction was solely formal. Not that they had been familiar before, but Hotch took her behavior as a hint that she wanted to keep the distance and respected it. Their following contacts occurred via phone or mail. He checked the names on her list and informed her in between about the interim results (only dead ends as yet). As far as he could tell, there were no more spot-checks. _

_He still was attracted to her, but he tried to ignore it even if he had to admit that her unapproachable behavior fascinated him even more._

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><p>Loud laughter brings Hotch back to the here and now. It's almost midnight, and yet, the opening of the exhibition is in full swing. He scans the crowd and catches Emily's brief glance in his direction just before she turns around and mixes with the guests.<p>

She received no more cards, packages or anonymous phone calls. By now, he checked each name on the list with inconclusive results. No relevant fingerprints on the cards or packages either. Run-of-the-mill material. No useful trace at all. They have to talk about how to continue. Whether she wants to leave it at that, considering nothing else happened, or wants him to proceed. Nonetheless, Hotch didn't want to take a risk and brought two of his freelancers with him tonight because the quote on the cards Emily received indicated that there is a connection to this exhibition. They blend into the crowd and most likely will not be needed. He feels better, though, knowing he is prepared – just in case.

Hotch still doesn't know what to think of her. Sometimes the thought crosses his mind that there should be only one name on the list – hers. There is something about her he can't classify. Hotch gathered a lot of information about Emily Prentiss during his first visit and the following interaction but compared to the profiles of his other clients (and some of them he actually wrote down and added them to their file), her profile is half-blank. There are too many blind spots; she remains a mystery to him. At least for now.

Suddenly, Hotch receives a message of one of the freelancers over the radio, "Mr. Hotchner, there is an incident at the back entrance."

He immediately responds that he will come over and moves quickly through the crowd without attracting attention. At the back entrance, his men hold down a young man who is complaining and trying to wriggle out of their grip.

"I just wanted to see her," he repeats over and over.

"He tried to get in through the back door without an invitation. His name is Jason Burns."

One of his freelancers shows him the man's ID, adding to Hotch's first impression that this is not their man. _Suspect_, he actually thought like in earlier days. Aside from the fact that it would be plain stupid to bring his ID, this man obviously lacks the required organization needed for the earlier occurrences.

"Take his personal data, photo and fingerprints. Then let him go," Hotch orders, anyway, before he turns around to go back into the gallery.

"Hey, you can't do that," the man complains, but Hotch already has gotten lost in the shuffle.

He let Emily Prentiss out of his sight for a couple of minutes merely. She was in the middle of the gallery when he walked to the back entrance. Safe among the crowd. It was a necessary, calculated risk to check what happened outside without endangering her too much in return. Save that she seems to be gone.

Concern mixed with anger floods through Hotch. Where is she? Did something happen to her? Was the man a deliberate diversionary tactic? His men are still outside so he has to take care of this alone. He scans the gallery for a glimpse of her black hair, her silky dress or the sound of her infectious laughter. Just when he thinks she actually is gone, he catches a glimpse of her shutting the door to the basement behind her. Oh, she has got to be kidding.

Of course, Hotch checked the construction plans of the building before the exhibition took place. There is a huge basement below the gallery. Many rooms. Many corridors. Ideal for storing art between exhibitions, but a logistic nightmare when it comes to safety. So they agreed that the door to the basement would be locked when the exhibition started and remain locked to its end. In fact, it was locked when Hotch checked right before the opening. Apparently, Emily Prentiss decided, though, that it not only was a good idea to leave his reach but also to frequent the area he considers most dangerous because there are no surveillance cameras.

He follows her unobtrusively. When the heavy door snaps shut, it is almost silent, music and conversations only remote, muffled sounds.

Hotch stands still and listens, but he hears nothing and decides to go downstairs quietly instead of calling out Emily's name. He is aware that he is spying on his own client right now. Unfortunately, and ridiculous as it is, it seems to be necessary.

When he reaches the end of the stairs, the corridors are radially arranged, each one leading into a suffocating darkness. Hotch still can't believe that she went down here of her own accord.

Again, he listens concentrated and thinks he heard something to his right, stepping into the hallway. After a few steps, there is a turn. By now, he is definitely hearing something. A whisper. No, _two whispers_. A man and a woman. Whispered voices, somewhere in the dark, somewhere behind the turn.

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><p><em>To be continued<em>


	5. Voices in the dark

**A/N: **This chapter starts right where the last one ended. It's really short, I know, but I hope you don't mind since I wanted to continue with the story. Thank you for reading & reviewing. It's very much appreciated.

**The usual disclaimer applies.**

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><p><em>Voices in the dark<em>

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><p>Hotch stops and tries to concentrate harder to understand the words, but all he catches are a few scraps of the whispered conversation.<p>

_Are you sure...?_

_Really dead...?_

_Can't risk..._

The voices get more and more agitated but at the same time even quieter so that Hotch eventually isn't able to understand anything anymore and decides to blow his cover. He coughs slightly and says her name as if he was looking for her, what he actually would be if he hadn't already found her and spied on her.

"Emily?"

The whispering stops abruptly; someone shuffles his or her feet before Emily comes round the corner.

"What are you doing here?" she asks him surprised and annoyed.

"Well, I could ask you the same," Hotch responds. "Didn't we agree that the basement is too dangerous and that the door was supposed to be locked?"

"I'm sorry. I needed something." She genuinely seems to be sorry and presents a small piece of art. "A potential buyer asked for this one as an accessory part for one of the sculptures. I didn't want to risk losing the deal so I went to get it." Emily steps closer and touches his arm. "I'm sorry. Now, that I think about it, I realize that it was stupid and perhaps even reckless. I should have told you. I'm used to make business without having to consider possible threats in the basement."

Her words sound honest albeit a little too apologetic and her face is unreadable as always. Emily's hand touches his arm; she holds his gaze without even blinking. She is so close that the scent of her perfume reaches his nostrils. Hotch realizes that it is the same perfume he smelled when he met her for the first time. It must be one of her favorites. For a brief moment, her sweet scent and their closeness distract him and Hotch wonders if she is aware of the effect she has on him and uses it deliberately.

"I heard whispering," he confronts her, regretting by now that, out of respect for her as his client, he didn't walk round the corner to find out whether she was alone or not as he still suspects. "Was there someone down here with you?" Time to stop the hide-and-seek game.

But instead of the expected reaction – guilt or at least bewilderment – there is a smile on her face. Emily pulls at his arm and leads him round the corner until they are standing under a louver.

"Listen," she simply says.

At first he hears nothing but then... voices... whispers... he can even make out some words. Somehow, the conversations from the gallery can be heard down here, at least an eerie, whispered version of it.

"It's an old building," Emily explains with a smile. Behind her, Hotch notices a room with dozens of art pieces. The room from where she obviously got the small piece she is holding in her hand right now.

"You're forgiven," she says, getting even closer to him so that she can breathe the words in his ear. Again, she is a distraction to all of his senses.

Emily steps back and the distracting, yet wonderful (although he wouldn't admit it), moment is over. They turn around, about to go upstairs. Emily is a few steps in front of him when Hotch discovers something on the filthy ground. It is almost undetectable, but he saw it, anyway, even if he almost wishes he didn't because he finally believed her. Fresh footprints of a man. So he was right after all. Someone was down here with her. And the entire arm touching, ear whispering, and getting much too close distraction was on purpose.

With one quick stride Hotch catches up with Emily and grabs her arm, turning her around in the process.

"You weren't alone down here," he accuses her.

She doesn't even flinch. There is no visible reaction in her face at all.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she responds. Calm. Composed. Ice-cold. "I explained to you that the voices are..."

"These are footprints of a man," Hotch states, gesturing at the floor. He walked around them so that they are still, even if not easily, recognizable.

Emily looks at them or at least pretends to do so. Then she looks back at him.

"Do you know how many people come down here every day?" she asks, very annoyed by now as if he tests her patience without any reason. If this really is an act, she is brilliant.

"If so many people come down here every day, why are there only your footprints and the footprints of a man visible in the dust?" Hotch asks.

"And yours," she adds, crossing her arms in front of her chest as a sign that her patience is running out. "And certainly footprints of other people, too, if we took a closer look." Emily tilts her head back. "Do you distrust me? Because if you do, perhaps we should think about ending our cooperation."

It's rare that people outsmart Aaron Hotchner, but she just did. Emily knows that he doesn't want to stop working for her, with her, whatever, knows by now that he is interested in her as a woman and not only as a client, no matter what just happened. If she wanted to end their cooperation, she simply would have said so.

Their eyes meet in a staring contest. Neither of them is willing to give in. It is supposed to be about power and anger. Yet, all Hotch feels is the incredible intensity that surrounds her. If he had only one word to describe her, it would be this one – intense. After a brief moment, he releases his grip on her arm and Emily turns around wordlessly, going back to the gallery, not bothering whether Hotch follows her or not. He does.

For the rest of the evening, they don't talk anymore. She continues to be the perfect entertainer for her guests and he watches her from a distance. Hotch is aware by now that the biggest threat to his assignment – making sure that nothing happens to Emily Prentiss – is his client herself. Considering what happened, there are only two logical conclusions – either Emily is actually completely unaware of what he was talking about or she has a lot more to hide than he fears, and moreover, is a professional in hiding things from others.

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><p><em>To be continued<em>


	6. Dead End

**A/N: **Here is the next chapter. It is a lot of fun to write this story and read your lovely reviews. Thank you so much for your support.

**The usual disclaimer applies.**

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><p><em>Dead End<em>

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><p>It's been three days that Hotch confronted Emily in the basement. Three days that she lied to him. Or not. That he believed her. Or not.<p>

Hotch still doesn't know who is behind everything – the phone calls, packages and cards. Neither research nor pulling a few strings has been successful. It remains a closed book. He needs instructions whether she wants to continue their cooperation or not, given the circumstances, but Emily Prentiss doesn't answer or return his calls.

It's difficult to make sense out of it. Is she simply busy or deliberately ignoring him because of what happened in the basement? Either way, Hotch is not the kind of person to bill inaction; he needs to clear things up.

Therefore he decided to see her today after the day before had ended with no new insights again. It was planned to be a regular business meeting. At least that had been the plan _before_ breakfast and _before_ he read the newspaper and saw the headline. Right now, on his way to his client, it looks as if this will end in another confrontation. Somehow, nothing that involves this woman seems to proceed in a normal way. Hotch is barely able to suppress his anger. When he confronted her in the basement, he suspected she has a secret she doesn't want to tell him about. That would be bad enough but nothing personal. This time, he feels betrayed. This time, it _is_ personal.

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><p>Her assistant greets him friendly as Hotch arrives at Emily Prentiss' office. She knows who he is by now. However, he has to make appointments like anyone else. Those are the rules. Rules he can't stick to today. Won't. He simply walks past the assistant into Emily Prentiss' office.<p>

"Mr. Hotchner... Wait! You can't go in there! She is in a meeting."

He hears the assistant's voice behind him. The angrier Hotch is, the calmer he becomes or at least appears to be. When he walked past the assistant, nodding to her politely, she didn't sense his mood, didn't expect him to ignore her, and that got him the head start he needed to reach the door to Emily Prentiss' office and open it.

Hotch wouldn't exactly call what takes place a _meeting_. When he opens the door, Emily is standing in the middle of her office, her back to the door, all but yelling at a man who is standing across from her in front of the huge glass front. She didn't hear Hotch come in because he didn't knock, only realizes he is there when she notices the irritation on the man's face and hears the voice of her assistant behind her.

"Ms. Prentiss, I'm so sorry. He just walked past me."

Her assistant is obviously embarrassed by the situation. Hotch can't blame her. He only caught half of a sentence when he opened the door, but it was enough to tell him that Emily and the man had been right in the middle of a heated argument before he barged in. And their body language tells him that it was a personal argument.

_If you can't accept that, then I don't think there is much left to talk about._ That's what she said to the man and that's what Hotch heard. Emily composes herself when she realizes Hotch is there and she manages to do so quickly. However, he saw a variety of emotions flicker on her face before she shows him her usual pokerface – hurt, directed at the man she was talking to, as well as surprise and anger, directed at him because he walked into her office regardless of what he was interrupting.

"It's okay," she tells her assistant. "You can leave."

"What is it?" she then addresses Hotch uncharacteristically rude.

Emily doesn't introduce the man to Hotch or vice versa. He already knows who it is, anyway. The man Hotch only knew so far from blurry pictures they had found as part of the research on his client. Her significant other, Clive Bellows. His background check came up with nothing. No matter what their argument is about; this man has no skeleton in the closet. You could call it irony of fate. For once Hotch doesn't have to bring bad news to a client regarding a loved one and here she is having found bad news herself to argue with him like that. He has not come by to discuss her private life though. That is none of his business.

"I need to talk to you and since you're not returning any of my phone calls...," Hotch starts to explain why he stopped by, withholding the discovery he made over breakfast for now.

"_Two_ phone calls," she cuts in, her anger about the interruption not subsiding in the least. "And that was only yesterday. I was busy. Sorry that I didn't call you back immediately. I thought _I_ was _your_ client and not the other way round. If it was _that_ _important_, you could have left a message."

She is angry but also right.

He could have left a message, could have offered her that he wouldn't bill the next two or three days, because there is nothing else he can do, and wait for her to contact him so that they could have discussed whether to continue or end their collaboration. That's what he would have done if she were any other client. But she's not. However much Hotch tells himself that this is a business meeting and that Emily's private life has nothing to do with him, the lines are getting blurry. He wanted to see her in person or at least hear her voice and when she kind of denied him both, the headline was the final touch to make him snap. Impatience, at least to this extent, is not one of his regular character traits. Seems as if Emily Prentiss brings out the worst of him.

"Perhaps we should continue this later, Em," Clive says, apparently tired to simply stand by.

And indeed, she turns around to look at him so abruptly as if she forgot that he is still there.

"Yes, we should," she agrees.

They don't say goodbye; Bellows just leaves as Emily takes a few steps away from Hotch so that she is standing behind her desk, demonstrating that, no matter what Hotch witnessed, this is a formal meeting. She doesn't sit down, doesn't want to give him the benefit of being able to look down at her.

"So what is it you have to talk to me about?" she asks.

Hotch's anger diminished when he realized that he had barged into a personal argument but now that he remembers why he is here, it is back with full force. He throws the newspaper he has brought along on her desk.

"Have you seen the article? The headline?" he hisses.

The way the newspaper is lying on her desk, the headline is visible. _Exhibition becomes reality – gallery owner goes through her own Shakespearean hell. _The article describes what has been happening during the last months – the calls, packages and cards – and draws a parallel between exhibition and real life.

Emily sighs and eventually sits down.

"Yes, I saw it."

"Imagine my surprise when I found out that the article includes detailed descriptions of the sculptures that are exhibited, including their price. Now, I am no marketing expert, but it doesn't take an expert to know that an article like that is beneficial to business. It makes an eerie exhibition even eerier and people even more willing to spend money on the sculptures."

When he read the article, Hotch was convinced that Emily Prentiss, rogue businesswoman, has been playing him false, that she staged the entire scenario for publicity reasons and to pull in sales. Her current expression, though, casts doubts on whether his assumption is true.

"Was it just a PR move?" he asks. The facts say yes whereas her face says no.

Emily lets her gaze dwell some more on his face; then she slowly shakes her head. "It wasn't me. It was my over-ambitious PR manager. He apparently believed I would promote him for that idea. Well, I fired him instead, but the damage is done."

"Save that it is no real damage," Hotch can't help it.

"No," she admits. "Monetary-wise it was, in fact, a clever move. But for a start, I don't agree with this kind of PR; I believe art has to speak for itself. Plus, I didn't want the world to know what was happening. I obviously was mistaken, thinking that the handful of people on my team who knew about the incidents were trustworthy. At least only my personal assistant knows about your role in all of that. So you weren't mentioned." It's true; he wasn't. A circumstance Hotch realizes only now.

He sits down in front of her desk. It feels as if a truce has been called. This time, Hotch has no doubts that she is telling the truth because it fits her profile. He should have considered that before he prejudged her. Emily knew nothing about the article.

"Sorry that I barged in and prejudged the situation before talking to you," he apologizes and she nods her approval. Being a business woman, Emily Prentiss is aware that bearing grudges is a waste of energy. "So what do we do now? My research has come to a dead end. That's why I called you in the first place. I don't know what else I could do for you," Hotch makes a pause. "Unless something else happens. I hope that won't occur, but the article might serve as a trigger."

Emily raises her eyebrows, leaning back in her office chair to let his words sink in. Evidently, she hasn't considered that possibility as an outcome of the publication so far. The silence between them is tense. Either things will get worse or their collaboration will be over soon. Hotch doesn't want _something else_, whatever it would be, to happen, but he also can't imagine to never see her again.

"Everything okay?" he asks. The words are out of his mouth before he can think it over. It is obvious that he refers to the entire situation that includes the article as well as her earlier argument with Clive Bellows. "Sorry, I don't want to be intrusive," Hotch backpedals.

To his surprise, she doesn't rebuke him though. Instead, she smiles bleakly, her expression getting softer despite the circumstances that are unpleasant for her personally as well as business-related. For a brief moment, Hotch catches a glimpse of her sensitivity and vulnerability. It makes her even more beautiful in his eyes. He realizes that no matter how successful she is, how many business partners and friends she has, whether she is happy with her significant other or not – deep down Emily Prentiss is a very lonely woman. Something he can relate to.

"Yes, everything's fine," she responds. It is a lie, but she doesn't bother to pretend it's not, trusting him not to call her out on it. Then she straightens herself. "I offer you half of what I usually pay you to stand by for the rest of the week. If nothing else happens, that is that."

It's a fair offer. Let alone that it allows them to remain client and adviser for a little while longer. "OK," Hotch agrees.

Something has changed between them, the following silence no longer tense but almost comfortable. The intercom breaks the silence, the voice of her assistant announcing the next appointment. Hotch immediately stands up and bids good bye. After his previous interruption, he doesn't intend to mess her schedule up any further. When he walks out, he can't help the feeling that she might have wanted him to stay. There is a first for everything.

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><p><em>To be continued<em>


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